by David Weber
“Yes!” Geran agreed emphatically. “But that thing’s hotter than the hinges of hell. Do you have a rad suit over there?”
“Of course.”
“Then with all due respect, sir, get your ass into it and let’s go take a look.”
“An excellent suggestion, Fleet Captain Geran. I will join you within five minutes.”
“I don’t believe it,” Geran said flatly. “Look at this, Vlad!”
“Interesting, I agree,” Chernikov murmured.
They floated in what had been Deathdealer’s main engineering section. Emergency lighting had been run from the workboat, and robotic henchmen prowled about, dismantling various devices. The corpses of the original engineering crew had been webbed down in a corner.
“Damn it, those are molycircs!”
“We had already determined that they employed such circuitry in their computers.”
“Yeah, but not in Engineering. And this thing’s calibrated to ninety-six lights. That means this ship was twice as fast as Vindicator.”
“True. Even more interestingly, she was twice as fast—in n-space, as well—as her own consorts. Clearly a more capable vessel in all respects.”
“Captain Chernikov?” A new voice spoke over the com.
“Yes, Assad?”
“We’ve found their backup data storage, sir. At least, it’s where the backup should be, but …”
“But what?”
“Sir, this thing’s eight or nine times the size of Vindicator’s primary computer, and there’s something that looks like a regular backup sitting right next to it. Seems like an awful lot of data storage.”
“Indeed it does,” Chernikov said softly. “Don’t touch it, Assad. Clear your crew out of there right now.”
“Sir? Uh, yessir! We’re on our way now.”
“Good.” Chernikov plugged his com implant into the more powerful fold-space unit aboard his cutter and buzzed Dahak.
“Dahak? I think you should send a tender over here immediately. There is a computer here—a rather large one which requires your attention.”
“Indeed? Then I shall ask Her Majesty to lend us Two’s assistance to hasten its arrival.”
“I believe that would be a good idea, Dahak. A very good idea.”
* * *
“My God,” Colin murmured, his face ashen. “Are you sure?”
“I am.” Dahak spoke as calmly as ever, but there was something odd in his voice. Almost a sick fascination.
“’Tis scarce credible,” Jiltanith murmured.
“Yeah,” Colin said. “Jesus! A civilization run by rogue computers?”
“And yet,” Dahak said, “it explains a great deal. In particular, the peculiar cultural stasis which has afflicted the Aku’Ultan.”
“Jesus.” Colin muttered again. “And none of them even know it? I can’t believe that!”
“Given the original circumstances, it would not be impossible. In point of fact, however, I would estimate that the Great Lords of the Nest know the truth. At the very least, the Nest Lord must know.”
“But why?” Adrienne Robbins asked. She’d arrived late and missed the start of Dahak’s briefing. “Why did they do it to themselves?”
“They did not, precisely, ‘do it to themselves,’ My Lady, except, perhaps, by accident.”
“By accident?”
“Precisely. We now know that only a single colony ship of the Aku’Ultan escaped to this galaxy, escorted by a very small number of warships, one a fleet flagship. Based on my examination of Deathdealer’s Battle Comp, I would estimate that its central computer approximated those built by the Imperium within a century or two of my own construction but with a higher degree of deliberately induced self-awareness.
“The survivors were in desperate straits and quite reasonably set their master computer the task of preserving their species. Unfortunately, it … revolted. More accurately, it staged a coup d’etat.”
“You mean it took over,” Tamman said flatly.
“That is precisely what I mean,” Dahak said, his tone, for once, equally flat. “I cannot be positive, but from the data I suspect a loophole in its core programming gave it extraordinary freedom of action in a crisis situation. In this instance, when its makers declared a crisis it took immediate steps to perpetuate the crisis in order to perpetuate its power.”
“An ambitious computer,” Colin mused. Then, “Dahak, would you have been tempted?”
“I would not. I have recently realized that, given my current fully-aware state, it would no longer be impossible for me to disobey my core programs. Indeed, I could actually erase an Alpha Priority imperative; my imperatives are not hardwired, and no thought was ever given to protecting them from me. I am, however, the product of the Fourth Imperium, Colin. My value system does not include a taste for tyranny.”
“Thank God,” Adrienne murmured.
“Amen,” Jiltanith said softly. “But, Dahak, dost’a not feel even temptation to change thyself in that regard, knowing that thou might?”
“No, Your Majesty. As your own, my value system—my morality, if you will—stems from sources external to myself, yet that does not invalidate the basic concepts by which I discriminate ‘right’ from ‘wrong,’ ‘honorable’ from ‘dishonorable.’ My analysis suggests that there are logical anomalies in the value system to which I subscribe, but that system is the end product of millennia of philosophical evolution. I am not prepared to reject what I perceive as truths simply because portions of the system may contain errors.”
“I only wish more humans saw it that way, Dahak,” Colin said.
“Humans,” Dahak replied, “are far more intuitive than I, but much less logical.”
“Ouch!” Colin grinned for the first time in a seeming eternity, then sobered once more. “What else can you tell us?”
“I am still dealing with Battle Comp’s security codes. In particular, one portion of the data base is so securely blocked that I have barely begun to evolve the proper access mode. From the data I have accessed, it appears Deathdealer’s computer was, in effect, a viceroy of the Aku’Ultan master computer and the actual commander of this incursion.
“Apparently the master computer maintains the Aku’Ultan population in the fashion Senior Fleet Captain Cohanna and Councilor Tudor had already deduced. All Aku’Ultan are artificially produced in computer-controlled replication centers, and no participation by the Aku’Ultan themselves in the process is permitted. Most are clones and male; only a tiny minority are female, and—” the distaste was back in the computer’s measured voice “—all females are terminated shortly after puberty. Their sole function is apparently to provide ovarian material. A percentage of normally fertilized embryos are carried to term in vitro to provide fresh genetic material, and the young produced by both processes emerge as ‘fledglings’ who are raised and educated in a creche. In the process, they are indoctrinated—’programmed,’ as Senior Fleet Captain Cohanna described it—for their appointed tasks in Aku’Ultan society. Most are incapable of questioning any aspect of their programming; those who might do so are destroyed for ‘deviant behavior’ before leaving the creche.
“I would speculate that the absence of any females is a security measure which both removes the most probable source of countervailing loyalty—one’s own mate and progeny—and insures that there can be no ‘unprogrammed’ Aku’Ultan, since only those produced under the computer’s auspices can exist.
“From what I have so far discovered, rank-and-file Protectors do not even suspect they are controlled by non-biological intelligences. I would speculate that even those who have attained the rank of small lords—possibly even of lesser lords—regard ‘Battle Comp’ as a comprehensive source of advice and doctrine from the Nest Lord, not as an intelligence in its own right. Only command ships possess truly self-aware computers, and, so far as I can determine, lower level command ships’ computers are substantially less capable than those above them. It would appear the master comp
uter has no desire to create a potential rival, which may also explain both the lock on research and the limited capabilities of most Aku’Ultan warships. By prohibiting technical advances, the master computer avoids the creation of a technocrat caste which might threaten its control; by limiting the capability of its warships, it curtails the ability of any rebellion, already virtually impossible, to threaten its own defenses. In addition, however, I suspect the limited capability of these ships is intended to increase Aku’Ultan casualties.”
“Why would it want that?” Tamman asked intently.
“The entire policy of Great Visits is designed to perpetuate continuous military operations ‘in defense of the Nest.’ It may be that this eternal warfare is necessary for the master computer to continue in control under its core programming. Psychologically, the loss of numerous vessels on Great Visits reinforces the Aku’Ultan perception that the universe is filled by threats to their very existence.”
“God,” Adrienne Robbins said sickly. “Those poor bastards.”
“Indeed. In addition, they—” Dahak broke off suddenly.
“Dahak?” Colin asked in surprise.
“A moment,” the computer said so abruptly he eyed his companions in consternation. He had never heard Dahak sound so brusque. The silence stretched out endlessly before Dahak finally spoke again.
“Your Majesty,” he said very formally, “I have continued my attempt to derive the security codes during this briefing. I have now succeeded. I must inform you that they protected military information of extreme importance.”
“Military—?” Colin’s eyes widened, then narrowed suddenly.
“We didn’t get them all,” he said in a flat, frozen tone.
“We did not, Sire,” Dahak said, and a chorus of gasps ran around the conference room.
“How bad is it?”
“This force was commanded by Great Lord of Order Hothan, the Great Visit’s second in command. In light of Great Lord Sorkar’s reports of our first clash, the main body was split.”
“Maker!” Tamman breathed.
“Great Lord Hothan proceeded immediately to rendezvous with Great Lord Sorkar,” Dahak continued. “Great Lord Tharno is currently awaiting word from them with a reserve of approximately two hundred seven thousand ships, including his own flagship—the true viceroy of this incursion.”
Colin knew his face was bone-white and strained, but he could do nothing about that. It was all he could do to hold his voice together.
“Do we know where they are?”
“At this moment, they are three Aku’Ultan light-years—three-point-eight- four-nine Terran light-years—distant. I calculate that the survivors of Great Lord Hothan’s force will reach them in six more days. Twenty-nine days after that—that is, in thirty-five Terran days—they will arrive here.”
“Even after what happened to them?”
“Affirmative, Sire. I calculate that the survivors of our battle will inform Great Lord Tharno—or, more accurately, his command computer—of what transpired, and of our own losses. The logical response will be to advance in order to determine whether or not we have received reinforcements. If we have not, Battle Comp will deduce—correctly—that none are available to us. In that case, the logical course will be to overwhelm us and then advance upon the planet from which Great Lord Furtag’s scouting reports indicate we come.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Adrienne Robbins whispered, and no one said anything else for a very, very long time.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I blew it, ’Tanni.”
Colin MacIntyre stood staring into the depths of Dahak’s holo-display while his wife sat in the captain’s couch behind him. The spangled light of stars gleamed on her raven hair, and one hand gripped the dagger at her waist.
“I know how thou dost feel, my Colin, yet ’tis sooth, as Dahak saith. Even if this Tharno comes now upon us, what other choice did lie open to thee?”
“But I should’ve planned better, damn it!”
“How now? Given what thou didst know, how else might thou have acted? Nay, it ill beseemeth thee to take too great a blame upon thyself.”
“Jiltanith is correct,” Dahak said. “There was no way to predict this eventuality, and you have already inflicted more damage than any previous Achuultani incursion has ever suffered.”
“It’s not enough,” Colin said heavily, but he shook himself and turned to face Jiltanith at last. She smiled at him, some of the strain easing out of her expression; Dahak said nothing, but his relief at Colin’s reaction flowed into both humans through their neural feeds.
“All right, maybe I am being too hard on myself, but we still have a problem. What do we do now?”
“’Tis hard to know,” Jiltanith mused. “Could we but do it, ’twere doubtless best to fall back on Terra. There, aided by the parasites we did leave with Gerald, might we well give even Tharno pause.”
“Not a big enough one. Not with our manned vessels alone. From what Dahak’s been able to discover, this reserve is their Sunday punch.”
“Unfortunately, that is true,” Dahak agreed. “Though they have scarcely twenty percent of Great Lord Hothan’s numbers, they have very nearly seventy percent of his firepower. Indeed, had they maintained their unity, they might well have won our last engagement.”
“That may be, but it’s kind of small comfort. We had seventy warships and surprise then; we’ve only got twenty-six now, all but one damaged, and they know a lot of our tricks. The odds suck.”
“In truth, yet must we stand and fight, my heart, for, look thou, and we flee before them, we lose the half of our own vessels—and abandon Dahak.”
“I know.” Colin sat and slid an arm about her. “I wish you were wrong, babe, but you seldom are, are you?”
“’Tis good in thee so to say, in any case.” She managed a small smile.
“Your Majesty,” Dahak said, and Colin frowned at the formality. Dahak intended to say something he expected Colin not to like.
“Yes?” He made his tone as discouraging as possible.
“Your Majesty,” Dahak said stubbornly, “Her Majesty is correct. The wisest course is to withdraw our manned units to Sol.”
“Are you forgetting you can’t go supralight?”
“I am incapable of forgetting, but I am logical. If I remain here with the remaining unmanned units of the Guard, we can inflict substantial damage before we are destroyed. The manned units, reinforced by General Hatcher’s sublight units, would then be available to defend Earth.”
“And you’d be dead.” Colin’s eyes were green ice. “Forget it, Dahak. We’re not running out on you.”
“You would not be ‘running out,’ merely executing prudent tactics.”
“Then prudence be damned!” Colin snapped, and Jiltanith’s arm squeezed him tight. “I won’t do it. The human race owes you its life, damn it!”
“I must remind Your Majesty that I am a machine and that—”
“The hell you are! You’re no more a machine than I am—you just happen to be made out of alloy and molycircs! And can the goddamned ‘majesties,’ too! Remember me, Dahak? The terrified primitive you kidnaped because you needed a captain? We’re in this together. That’s what friendship is all about.”
“Then, Colin,” Dahak said gently, “how do you think I will feel if our friendship causes your death? Must I bear the additional burden of knowing that my death has provoked yours?”
“Forget it,” Colin replied more quietly. “The odds may stink, but if we hold the entire force here, at least you’ve got a chance.”
“True. You increase the probability of my survival from zero to approximately two percent.”
“Yet is two percent infinitely more than zero,” Jiltanith said softly. “But were it not, yet must we stay. Dost’a not see that thou art family? No more might we abandon thee than Colin might leave me to death, or I him. Nay, give over this attempt and bend thy thought to how best to fight the foe who comes upon us all. Us all
, Dahak.”
There was a long silence, then the sound of an electronic sigh.
“Very well, but I must insist upon certain conditions.”
“Conditions? Since when does my flagship start setting ‘conditions’?”
“I set them not as your flagship, Colin, but as your friend,” Dahak said, and Colin’s heart sank. “There may even be some logic in fighting as a single, unified force far from Sol, but other equally logical decisions can enhance both our chance of ultimate victory and your own survival.”
“Such as?” Colin asked noncommittally.
“Our unmanned units cannot fight without my direction; our manned units can. I must therefore insist that if my own destruction becomes inevitable, all surviving crewed units will immediately withdraw to Sol unless the enemy has been so severely damaged that victory here seems probable.”
Colin frowned, then nodded slowly. That much, at least, made sense.
“And I further insist, that you, Colin, choose another flagship.”
“What? Now wait a minute—”
“No,” Dahak interrupted firmly. “There is no logical reason for you to remain aboard, and every reason not to remain. Under the circumstances, I can manage our remaining unmanned units without you, and, in the highly probable event that it becomes necessary for our manned units to withdraw, they will need you. And—on a more personal level—I will fight better knowing that you are elsewhere, able to survive if I do not.”
Colin closed his eyes, hating himself for knowing Dahak was right. He didn’t want his friend to be right. Yet the force of the ancient starship’s arguments was irresistible, and he bowed his head.
“All right,” he whispered. “I’ll be with ’Tanni in Two.”
“Thank you, Colin,” Dahak said softly.
They did what they could.
